


Harry's worst memories

by lostonplatform934



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Language, One Shot, POV Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 02:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonplatform934/pseuds/lostonplatform934
Summary: Harry treasures being a dad. He loves the sound of his children’s laughter and reading them bedtime stories. But when Harry harshly punishes James for accidentally hurting Lily, Harry is forced to reckon with the abuse the Dursleys inflicted on him.





	Harry's worst memories

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write fluff, not angst, so this was a new challenge for me. But I've been reading a lot of Dursleys-related fics recently and can't seem to get them out of my head. I'm usually a firm believer in Harry being an amazing dad, but this is meant to be what he would consider one of his worst fatherhood moments.

 

These kids were going to be the death of him.

 

Harry usually treasured his time at home. He truly did. He loved waking up to the pattering of little feet running downstairs, charming clean his children’s clothes after they spilled juice, listening to their giggles when he made sparks appear from his wand and reading them “Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump” (complete with funny voices for all the characters) at night.

 

So, it was a sign of just how rambunctious his three young children were being that he guilty thought he wouldn’t be devastated if the Ministry called him away for some auror emergency.

 

It was a Saturday in April and the rain was pouring down in buckets, meaning Harry and the kids were stuck inside. Ginny was working, and Harry had hours ago run out of ways to entertain the kids. After breakfast, he had bundled them up in rain jackets and boots to take them outside to explore, casting a protego charm around them for good measure to deflect the water. But the thunder and lightning had frightened Albus to tears, causing James to tease him mercilessly. Albus then pushed James, who accidently stumbled into Lily, toppling the oldest and youngest into the mud. Lily responded by slapping James in the neck with her dirty hand. James then pulled her hair. In between the chaos, Harry’s protego charm died and soon all four of them were soaking. As he wrangled the kids back into the house, Harry reprimanded them for resorting to violence. He was hardest on James, who at 6 should no better than his siblings and set a better example. Lily had turned 3 a couple months before, while Albus was not quite yet 5, so he could cut them some slack.

 

Scolding the kids had only worsened his headache, brought on by his lack of sleep from the night before. He had gone to sleep late because he had been held up at the auror office, but Lily woke up in the middle of the night with a stomach ache and crawled into bed with he and Ginny. Lily got up early--her stomach ache miraculously cured--meaning Harry, too, was up early.

 

Of course, Harry would sacrifice sleep if it meant more time with his daughter. And he much preferred this head pain to the one he had been so familiar with in his youth.

 

But Harry couldn’t help wishing his kids would sit on the couch quietly while he took a much-needed nap.

 

Giving his muddy children baths had been an ordeal in itself. Scourgify hadn’t quite done the job of removing all the mud, and they were all wet and shivering from the rain. Being the youngest, Lily was the most likely to make a bigger mess if left to her own devices, so he opted to clean her first. He took her into his and Ginny’s loo and let the girl pick out bubbles. He had looked away from his daughter for just a moment to reach for a bar of soap, but when he turned back she had dumped the entire bottle of pink bubbles into the water. He had wanted to tell her off, mainly because he knew Ginny would be annoyed that her favorite bubbles were gone. But then she had started enchanting the bubbles to dance around the room, and Harry couldn’t be upset when she was performing such brilliant accidental magic. It wasn’t her first time doing such tricks, but Harry could never get enough of it.

 

Their cries of delight had attracted Albus and James, who came in with his towel wrapped around his lower half, mud still on his chest and in his hair. Albus was still in his wet clothes.

 

James, who was normally insistent that he was old enough to shower because he was “almost 7” (not quite true, his birthday wasn’t until August), grew jealous of the fun Lily was having in the bath and demanded he take one, too. Harry sent James off to the tub in the kids’ loo and dried Albus with his wand.

 

James took longer than Lily in the bath, Harry suspected mainly because he wanted agitate Albus, who was still waiting his turn. Albus would be turning 5 in just over a week and could mainly be trusted in the bath by himself, so once Lily was done Harry set up Al in that tub and went to make the kids lunch.

 

After sandwiches, Harry tried to encourage the kids to color or play gobstones, but they wanted to fly. Harry reminded them of the rain, but they wanted to race their brooms inside, a suggestion Harry flatly squashed. This only led to more whining. He regretted telling his kids about the photo he had found of himself flying around the house as a baby. But that had been different, Harry reasoned. His parents only had himself to deal with, not three kids who, if allowed to fly inside, were bound to hurt themselves or each other, not to mention smash anything breakable.

 

To appease them, he flicked on the Wizarding Wireless to listen to the match between Puddlemere United and the Chudley Cannons that Ginny was covering for the Daily Prophet. The kids quickly lost interest in it though, and the boys took to tossing a fanged frisbee around the house. Inwardly cursing George and Ron, Harry confiscated the toy. He couldn’t necessarily blame the kids though. It was a dull match, with Puddlemere thoroughly embarrassing the Cannons’ keeper. There was little for the commentator to remark upon aside from the dreary looking faces of the players as they flew in the stormy weather. Thankfully, the Puddlemere seeker put everyone out of their misery by catching the snitch quickly.

 

This was particularly beneficial for Harry because it meant Ginny came home early. He greeted her with much more enthusiasm than the kids, who he had convinced to play Exploding Snap. This hadn’t been as clever an idea as Harry thought because Albus grew increasingly frustrated with Lily’s lack of understanding of the rules. Ginny walked in to find Lily flicking a card at Al because he had tried to tell her what to do on on her turn. The card exploded as it made contact with Albus’ face, singing his eyebrows. James used the distraction to grab his broom from his bedroom, flying down the stairs and hovering above his family. As Harry comforted a tearful Albus, Ginny reprimanded Lily and threatened to take James’ broom away if he didn’t get down.

 

“And what did I tell you, James?” Harry barked. “No flying in the house.”

 

But the presence of James’ Firebolt set off Albus and Lily further, and they began to pester their parents about when they would get their own “big-kid brooms.” The two still flew on kid-sized brooms.  

 

“When you’re 6. And only if you’re good,” Harry and Ginny repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

 

Ginny had wanted to get all the kids real brooms on their sixth birthdays because she had been that age when she taught herself to fly. But getting James a broom last year had sparked so much jealousy in his siblings and cousins that Harry and Ginny often regretted it. James didn’t do much to help matters, Harry thought. He was constantly flaunting his broom by carrying it around the house or bringing it up in conversations that had nothing to do with Quidditch.

 

Wet and cold from the match, Ginny went upstairs to shower. Harry reluctantly watched her go, wishing he could follow her to get a respite from the kids almost as much as he wanted to join her to help wash her hair and back and everywhere. Gulping down thoughts of Ginny under the water, her hands roaming her body, Harry coaxed Albus and James into playing with a couple trick wands from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Meanwhile, he settled onto the ground to play dolls with Lily.   

 

Things were relatively peaceful when Ginny came downstairs, wearing an old Harpies sweatshirt and tight-fitting pants she normally wore to work out in, but that Harry thought accentuated her figure rather nicely. She kissed Harry’s cheek lightly, kneeling down to rub his shoulders. Harry sighed, breathing in her flowery smell, which was stronger after her shower.

 

“How’d things go today?” she murmured.

 

“Oh, just peachy,” he grumbled sarcastically, but then let out a grunt of pleasure as her hands reached the knot in his neck.

 

“You seem to be doing a good job now, Dad,” she teased. “All is calm. All is well.”

 

“Yes, because they know they have to be well-behaved for their mum,” he said, turning to kiss her. He couldn’t enjoy the feel of her lips for as long as he would have liked, for he felt a pillow smack him in the back of the head.

 

“James,” Ginny scolded.

 

“Stop being gross,” James groaned.   

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but resisted the urge to thoroughly snog his wife.  

 

The boys grew bored with their trick wands, so Ginny suggested a game of Reusable Hangman. This entertained the kids for a while, but Al and Lily couldn’t read, so they weren’t much help. At first, James was more inclined to mess up, so the toy figure would hang. But the novelty of seeing the man swing wore off quickly. And it was too gruesome for Lily.  

 

Finally, Harry sent the kids up to James’ room with a few pairs of screaming yo-yos and headless hats. As Harry started preparing dinner, he and Ginny commiserated over their days. The Cannons had canceled the press conference before the game and the team’s spokesman was stonewalling Ginny’s attempts to interview their new seeker for a story she was working on about pay disparities between male and female rookies. Meanwhile, Harry filled Ginny in on the day’s hecticness.

 

They were alone for scarcely 10 minutes when they heard shouts coming from upstairs. Groaning in unison, Harry and Ginny dashed into the other room to find Lily soaring down the stairs on James’ broom, cackling as she went. Her brothers were following behind her, Al laughing and James shouting for his broom back.

 

Harry had to admit, Lily’s form was good. She would be as great of a Quidditch player as her mum. But she was too young to fly on a real broom, especially not in the house. And she shouldn’t take her brother’s belongings. So, Harry knew he had to put a stop to it.

 

“LILY LUNA POTTER!” Harry hollered. “COME DOWN RIGHT NOW!”

 

She swooped down the hall and into the living room, still grinning widely as James chased her.

 

“YOU GET DOWN RIGHT NOW, YOUNG LADY, OR THERE WILL BE NO DESSERT FOR A WEEK!” Ginny cried.  

 

The threat made Lily’s expression falter and she halted, drooping down so that she hovered over the coffee table, only a few feet off the ground. But now that she had paused, James finally caught up with her, reaching out his hand and yanking at the broom’s bristles--

 

Lily toppled sideways, her arms flailing helplessly before her head smashed into the corner of the coffee table.

 

Lily’s cry wrenched through Harry. And her blood. It was all over her forehead, mixing with tears and dripping down her nose.   

 

It had happened so fast, even before Harry could cast a spell to stop her from falling. What was wrong with him? He had dueled Death Eaters, bested Lord Voldemort himself, and yet Harry’s quick wits weren’t fast enough to protect his own daughter in his own home.  

 

Ginny rushed to Lily’s side, but Harry was frozen on the spot. He realized his wand was raised and his hand was shaking in fury.

 

He turned to his eldest son, who was staring dumbstruck at Lily, broom in hand. A white-hot rage like he hadn’t felt in years passed over Harry. He shouldn’t have had to protect Lily. This shouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have happened if James had just been patient, just listened, just been careful.

 

“JAMES!” Harry bellowed, sparks erupting from his wand. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

 

James trembled in response, still clutching his broom.  

 

“OH RIGHT! YOU WEREN’T! YOU NEVER THINK, JAMES! YOU NEVER LISTEN!” Harry ranted, throwing up his arms in frustration, his wand flying haphazardly out of his hand and falling onto the couch, leaving a burn mark on the cushion.

 

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID!” Harry continued, gesturing at at Lily, who was crying into her mother’s shoulder. Ginny was stroking Lily’s hair and biting her lip at Harry.

 

“YOUR SISTER IS SERIOUSLY HURT! YOU DID THIS!”

 

There was a roaring in Harry’s ears, and he wasn’t aware of the words coming out of his mouth or the way his body was moving. But he was inches from James, his finger pointed in his face.

His other hand gripped James’ shoulder. Tears fell down the boy’s face.  

 

“YOU’RE THE BIG BROTHER, JAMES!” Harry stormed, shaking his son with both hands so furiously the boy’s glasses slipped from his nose and onto the ground.

 

“Harry!” Ginny cried, but Harry was shouting too loud to hear her.

 

“YOU DON’T TOUCH YOUR SISTER! YOU DON’T HURT YOUR SISTER! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER! YOU’RE THE BIG BROTHER! ACT LIKE IT!

 

“I’m sorry,” James gulped, tugging his arms around his stomach like a shield.  

 

Harry snorted derisively, yanking the broom from James’ arms and flinging it aside, so it clattered against the window.

 

“Sorry! Sorry! Yeah, you’re going to be sorry!”

 

He grabbed James by the scruff of his t-shirt and dragged him toward the stairs, barely registering the sound of the fabric tearing.

 

“You’re going in your room for the rest of the night. No dinner! No dessert! And it’ll be months before you can even touch that broom again. If ever!”

 

Incidentally stepping on James’ glasses as he went, Harry marched James to his room and shoved him through the door, locking it by hand when he realized he had lost his wand downstairs. As the lock clicked, Harry’s vision went black for a moment and suddenly he heard the latch on the cupboard closing and smelled the mustiness of his dirty sleeping bag. Harry’s knees went weak and he collapsed in the hallway, burying his hands in his face and trying to even his breaths. He tried to replay what he had just done in his mind, but the words he had just shouted at James were coming out in Uncle Vernon’s voice. He closed his eyes and saw his uncle’s purple face, felt his uncle’s hands closing around Harry’s throat.

 

Harry nearly choked on his own salvia.

 

A cry from downstairs broke through the memories running through his mind, and Harry remembered his little daughter needed him. He stumbled to his feet and rushed to the living room. Ginny was still hugging Lily, and Al was patting her awkwardly on the back. When he saw Harry, Al scurried away, looking frightened.

 

Harry sucked in his breath and put on his most doting expression and voice.

 

“Lilsy,” he said soothingly, kneeling down and kissing her all over. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

 

Lily’s lip wavered.

 

“Daddy, you mad at me?” she asked between sobs.

 

“No, Lily. Never. Never, ever. I’m sorry--”

 

Harry met Ginny’s eyes over their daughter. She was staring at him with an expression he found hard to read. He always prided himself on knowing what Ginny was thinking, so it made Harry feel even worse that this time he didn’t know. _She must be furious_ , Harry thought numbly. _She’s probably wondering how fast I can pack my bags. If I were her, I would hate me_.

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Lilsy. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

Harry held his daughter close and whispered words of comfort into her ear until her cries subsided. Ginny then used her wand to clean up Lily’s blood.

 

“Maybe you’ll have a scar like Daddy’s,” said Albus, who crept out from where he had been hiding behind the couch. Harry whimpered without meaning to.

 

 _Please no_ , he thought.

 

But the gash wasn’t very deep. Her tears were probably more of a result of his own anger than the pain, Harry thought. He had yelled at his kids before, but never like this. He had always been careful to keep that part of him locked away.

 

“I don’t reckon so. It’s not too bad, Lils,” Ginny said, muttering a spell that sealed up the wound. She kissed the now-blemish free spot on Lily’s forehead. “See! All better now.”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his lips to Lily’s forehead, too.

 

“You were very brave, Lily,” he said. Lily sniveled, but smiled weakly at him.

 

Ginny distracted Lily by suggesting they pick out a new outfit for the girl to wear for dinner. Ginny promised to transfigure the doll’s dress to look like Lily’s clothes, brightening the child up tremendously. Before they walked upstairs, Harry gripped Ginny’s hand.

 

“Gin, I’m sorry,” Harry murmured.

 

Ginny inhaled.

 

“We’re not doing this now, Harry,” she sighed. She was frowning, but not in a way that was entirely angry. Her expression was an odd mixture of pity and resignation that made Harry feel like she had been waiting for this to happen one day, like she had always known he would prove himself to be too unstable to be around their kids.

 

Wondering bitterly if this would be the last evening he spent with his family, Harry retrieved his wand, considering whether he should leave the burn mark as a reminder to punish himself before guiltily repairing it. He then retreated to the kitchen to finish making dinner, calling for Albus to join him. Al still seemed hesitant around his dad, so Harry picked him up and tickled his stomach until the boy giggled. Knowing it would cheer up his son, Harry allowed Albus to make an “Alconcoction.” An “Alconcoction” consisted of whatever ingredients Al wanted to throw together. They were usually as appetizing as Hagrid’s rock cakes, but Al enjoyed the process.

 

Harry let Albus sit on the counter as he mixed together leftover rice, frozen green beans, tomato sauce and a sprinkling of his favorite sugary cereal. It was something, Harry thought as he put the chicken in the oven and turned to mash the potatoes, he never would have been allowed to do as a child.

 

His mind drifted to one of his earliest memories of being in the kitchen. He must have been 3, and Aunt Petunia had made him wash the dishes. The step stool she put him on wasn’t quite high enough, so he couldn’t reach the faucet. The stopper had been in the drain, so the water spilled over the counter and onto the floor. His clothes sopping, Harry called Aunt Petunia for help. She scurried in and slipped on the water, smacking her head on the floor.

 

That was the first time Harry recalled Uncle Vernon hitting him. He had pulled Harry upward by his t-shirt, so that Vernon’s swollen face was millimeters from Harry’s and bellowed that Harry was a stupid, ungrateful child. Then, he had smacked Harry’s upper cheekbone and dropped him on the ground.

 

Sometime after that, Harry dropped two pieces of Aunt Petunia’s fine china. She responded by swatting at him with a metal spatula. Once, Harry had been caught playing with one of Dudley’s action figures. Uncle Vernon whacked Harry’s hand with his belt.

 

The memories of being abused by the Dursleys floated back to him. He had kept them so suppressed that he had forgotten just how awful they had been. When he thought back on those years, he remembered the cupboard and the loneliness and fear. But he had forgotten what had fueled that terror had been beatings, vitriol and hunger.

 

Ginny knew the Dursleys had treated Harry horribly. In the early years of their relationship, he had told her about the cupboard and the lack of meals and the endless chores. But Harry realized now he had probably minimized some of the stories simply because he had blocked them out. Even still, she had been furious in a way that made Harry unendingly grateful for her, but also mildly confused. She had wanted to storm 4 Privet Drive and hex his aunt and uncle. She even argued against Harry getting lunch with Dudley for the first time after the war. Harry couldn’t understand that. Those times were in the past. He was ready to move on.

 

Still, when Ginny was pregnant with James, the Dursleys haunted him again as Harry worried he could not be a good father when all he had experienced as a child was hatred. Ginny had talked him down from his panic, repeating how loving Harry was and how he was a much better man than his uncle could ever hope to be. After 6 ½ years as a dad and nearly 13 years taking care of Teddy, Harry thought he had absolved himself of those nagging doubts. But today, with James, had proven to Harry he had been right to fear himself. What James did was wrong, but it was an accident, Harry thought. James was a child, and accidents happened. He hadn’t deserved Harry’s harsh words, shouldn’t have been yanked by his shirt and thrown in his room without supper.

 

 _But that’s the only kind of punishment I know_ , Harry thought.

 

With a jolt, Harry understood the pain the Dursleys had inflicted would never go away. He would just need to do his best to live with it and overcome it.

 

Harry registered that Ginny and Lily had come back downstairs, and Ginny was trying to teach the kids how to set the table. In a way that reminded Harry so much of Mrs. Weasley, Ginny was explaining to Albus why it was good “character building” for kids to do it the muggle way. Any other day, Harry would have chuckled.

 

Harry and Ginny’s eyes met. She was wearing that look she had given him before, the one Harry told himself rang with disappointment. But when she pulled some cutlery out of the drawer beside Harry, she squeezed his hand.

 

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered.

 

Harry realized then she had been regarding him with a sorrowful understanding. And he knew she recognized that Harry’s guilt was far worse than any residual anger she felt for his behavior. And she trusted him to make it right.

 

Moving on auto-pilot, Harry cut up Albus and Lily’s chicken, placing it alongside the mashed potatoes, carrots and “Alconcoction” on their plates. He poured milk into their sippy cups and set that and the food on the dining room table, where Ginny was securing the kids in their high chairs. He served Ginny, too, before turning to his own plate. This was a routine he loved because he was doing it for people he loved and who loved him.

 

By age 5, he had been expected to, at the very least, help cook dinner. It had been his job to set the table and serve the Dursleys before he could eat himself. Once, he accidentally dropped Aunt Petunia’s casserole. Mushy food and glass covered the floor. Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the neck, bellowing at him while he choked and sputtered. Finally, Vernon had released Harry with an order to clean up the mess. His uncle had continued roaring at him as he mopped up the food and vacuumed the glass. His stomach grumbled while Dudley whined the side dishes and mountains of dessert his mother piled on his plate wouldn’t be enough. When Harry was done, Uncle Vernon dragged Harry by his t-shirt and threw him into the cupboard so forcefully the shirt had ripped. Harry spent 24 hours in his cupboard in his torn t-shirt. The Dursleys never even let him out to go to the loo, so he soiled his pants. And they never brought him food.

 

At the time, that had just been life. Harry recalled thinking then that it was his own fault. He needed to be more careful. He needed to learn to dodge their blows, stay at arms-length. After that, he did.  

 

Now, Harry couldn’t fathom treating a child that way. He hadn’t been as bad toward James as Uncle Vernon had been toward him. But Harry, hearing in his head the shirt ripping, never wanted he and Vernon to be even remotely close to the same category.

 

Harry moved toward his own chair, but halted, staring at his food and then James’ empty seat. That vacant chair seemed to fill the room, screaming at him.

 

Harry grabbed another plate, hastily cutting more chicken and shoveling mashed potatoes, carrots and the “Alconcoction” onto it. Pouring a cup of milk and a glass of water, Harry levitated the two plates and drinks before kissing the tops of Albus and Lily’s heads.

 

“I love you both,” he murmured. “So, so much.”

 

He kissed Ginny’s cheek.

 

“Start without me,” he told her, nodding at their plates.

 

She gave him a small smile and pressed her lips lightly against his. With that kiss, Harry knew that he might not be okay, but at least he and Ginny eventually would be.

 

Harry rapped gently on James’ door. He was holding James’ glasses in one hand. He had picked them up from the floor and repaired them with his wand.

 

“James, can I come in?”

 

There was no answer.

 

Harry’s stomach lurched in fear. What if something had happened to James? Harry immediately envisioned rogue Death Eaters breaching the wards around the house and kidnapping his son.

 

“James, are you in there?”

 

There was a pause and then a meek voice said, “yeah.”

 

“I’m gonna come in, all right?”

 

Harry used alohomora to unlock the door and made his way inside. James was facing the wall, his fingers clutching his favorite dog stuffed animal. He glanced at his father, his face and eyes red, and then whipped his head back around.

 

The neckline of his t-shirt was torn, revealing James’ right shoulder.

 

Harry gulped.

 

Harry waved his wand and two TV dinner trays appeared. With a second wave, the plates and cups landed on them. Harry then summoned a wicker chair.

 

“Can I sit?” Harry asked, gesturing at it.

 

James’ shoulder twitched, and Harry, taking that to mean yes, sunk into the chair.

 

“I wanted to bring you some dinner.”

 

James didn’t reply. He shot his father another quick look before returning to the wall, tugging his arms around his legs.

 

Harry sighed, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you changed first.”

 

Harry strode over to James’ dresser and pulled out a Harpies shirt with “Potter” emblazoned on the back and a dragon shirt Charlie had gotten him last Christmas.

 

“Harpies or dragon?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Harpies,” James finally mumbled.

 

Harry made to help James remove his shirt, but the boy seemed to recoil at Harry’s touch, so Harry stepped back, feeling a lump rising in his throat.

 

“You’re a big boy,” Harry said, in a voice he hoped didn’t betray the tears threatening to fall. “You can do it yourself.”

 

Harry peered at James’ neck as he changed, breathing a sigh of relief when the boy’s neck appeared blemish free. Harry vanished the torn t-shirt as soon as James let go of it. He didn’t want to see it again. Taking care not to poke James in the eye, Harry slipped the repaired glasses on his son’s head.

 

“Let’s eat then,” Harry said. James shuffled to the edge of his bed, still avoiding his dad’s gaze.

 

“James, I’m sorry,” Harry blurted out. James looked up, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or--or hurt you like that. It was wrong of me. I was scared and upset that Lily was hurt and I let it out on you. That wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry.”

 

James turned redder and squeezed his arms to his chest.  

 

“I really am sorry, James. Can you forgive me?”

 

James made a noncommittal sound. Harry placed his head in his hands. He had really blundered everything, he thought. His own son was afraid of him, too scared to forgive his father, too afraid not to. Harry closed his eyes and tried to channel that boy in the cupboard.

 

What had he wanted when he sat alone and frightened in the dark?

 

_A loving parent._

 

“James, can I give you a hug?”  

 

James gave a little shrug, that Harry again decided to interpret as an affirmation. He slipped onto James’ bed and pulled his son to his arms. The memory of holding James for the first time floated to the surface of Harry’s mind. He had been even smaller and more delicate than Harry had imagined he would be. An overwhelming feeling--stronger than Harry had ever felt before--had washed over him. It was a feeling Harry could only describe as love.

 

Harry planted kisses on James’ hair, holding him tighter and stroking his back when he felt the boy’s body start to shudder with tears.

 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Harry repeated into his son’s head.

 

“It was an accident, Dad,” James blubbered finally. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

 

“I know, James. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Seeing the tears roll down James’ cheek reminded Harry of how young, how gentle the boy was. James had inherited his namesake’s penchant for mischief and often came across as daring and confident, so Harry was hardest on him compared to his younger siblings. It was easy for Harry to forget sometimes James was just as small and delicate as he had been as a baby.

 

Harry loosened his grip slightly to wipe the tears from James’ face. James mumbled something Harry couldn’t make out.

 

“What is it, Jamie?”

 

“Are you still mad at me?”

 

“Merlin, no, James. I’m not mad at you. And I’m going to do my best to never be that mad at you again. I’m sorry.”

 

James exhaled.

 

“Okay, good.”

 

Harry cleared his throat. He wanted to be honest with his son.

 

“Sometimes, it’s hard for me not to get mad because--because--”

 

Harry hesitated. James was so young. He didn’t need to hear these things, but all of a sudden everything was spilling out of Harry.

 

“James, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told you before, something I’ve never told your brother and sister before. But I’m trusting you because you’re a big boy now and I think you can handle it. You know my parents died when I was little, right?”

 

James nodded.

 

“And you know I lived with my aunt and uncle?”

 

James nodded again.

 

“Well, they weren’t very nice people,” Harry admitted. “They yelled at me a lot and said mean things about me and--and--”

 

No, Harry couldn’t tell his son about how exactly the Dursleys had hurt him. That was too much.

 

“And sometimes I don’t know how to be a good dad because of it.”

 

Harry didn’t know if he was making sense or if everything was flying over James’ head. He half-hoped it was the latter. He shouldn’t be burdening his son with this.

 

James tilted his head, a frown forming on his face.

 

“You’re a good dad though,” he said thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah?” Harry smiled in spite of himself. “What makes me a good dad?”

 

James screwed up his face in thought and shrugged.

 

“I dunno,” he said. “You just are. ‘Cuz you love us and stuff.”

 

Harry choked back a sob and pulled James into another hug.

 

“I love you so much, James,” Harry murmured. “More than I could ever express.”

 

While Harry released his grip on his son to brush a tear from his own eyes, James continued.

 

“And you play with us. Like, you play with Lily’s dolls, even though dolls are boring. And you’re funny. Not as funny as Uncle Ron or Uncle George, but still funny enough. Like your Babbity Rabbity voice is funny. And the other night you let me have an extra cookie when mum wasn’t looking.”

 

Harry laughed.

 

“Oh, you’re mum noticed. She told me later. She’s pretty smart, your mum.”

 

“Yeah,” James agreed, before blushing a little. “She’s kind of, no offense, cooler than you. Just ‘cuz she played Quidditch.”

 

Harry guffawed for a minute straight. It had been one of his goals as a dad to make his kids realize their mum was way cooler than him. Hearing James say that felt like an accomplishment to be prouder of than defeating Voldemort.

 

“But both you and mum got me my broom,” James added when Harry’s laughter subsided. “And you’re both really good at teaching me how to fly. And that’s something you like doing. You’re not going to want to stop doing that.”

 

Harry smirked. He knew what his son was getting at.

 

“Your broom is still taken away. But if you’re good and if you promise to never fly in the house again, then you can have it back in two weeks.”

 

“Two weeks!”

 

“It was months remember? Two weeks is fair. And you have to apologize to Lily.”

 

James nodded.

 

“I will. I really am sorry.”

 

“I know,” Harry said. “But let’s eat. The food is getting cold.”

 

“Dad,” James asked, looking at his plate with a frown. “Do I need to eat everything?”

 

“Yes, James, you need to have your carrots.”

 

“No, I mean, what’s this?”

 

Wincing, James poked the “Alconcoction” with his fork.

 

“Oh,” Harry chuckled. “That’s an invention of your brother’s.”

 

“I know I’m supposed to be a good big brother, Dad. But please don’t make me eat this.”

 

Harry laughed heartily.

 

“It’s all right. Give it here.”

 

James shoveled his “Alconcoction” onto Harry’s plate, looking relieved. Harry scooped himself a forkful and took a bite, nearly choking as he swallowed.

 

“You know, I think just a taste is enough,” Harry said hastily as James giggled.

 

***

 

Some time later, Harry and James came downstairs to find Ginny, Albus and Lily in the living room, creating their own birthday cards for Teddy. Harry kicked himself for not thinking of that activity earlier. It was just another example of how Ginny was cleverer than him, he supposed. James gave Lily a hug and apologized. Lily forgave him with a little coaxing from her parents, who also insisted she apologize for taking James’ broom. After they made up, the kids’ conversation then switched to imagining what Teddy was doing at Hogwarts at that moment and how excited they were to see him when he came home for Easter in a couple weeks. They then begged for dessert, a request Ginny nixed, reminding them they had to be better behaved to earn that privilege.

 

It was soon time for bed, and Harry volunteered to handle putting Lily down, while Ginny dealt with the boys. Even though Lily was one child, getting her to sleep was much more challenging than James and Al. Their middle son often fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. James tried to delay the process and insist that he should be allowed to stay up later because he was the oldest. But he would eventually fall asleep.

 

When James was born, Harry and Ginny thought he was a terrible sleeper, but then they had Lily. As a baby, she never slept more than a few hours. At 3, she was an expert at manipulating her parents into reading another bedtime story and could only be convinced to close her eyes if her parents promised to stay in the room. She often woke in the middle of the night and crawled into their bed. Ginny said it was because Harry was too soft on her, which he admitted was probably true, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to look at his daughter’s adorable face and say “no” to her.

 

Three long bedtime stories later (complete with funny voices), Harry came downstairs to find Ginny at the kitchen island with two glasses of wine, scooping ice cream into a bowl.

 

“Thanks, Gin,” Harry sighed, reaching for one of the wine glasses.

 

“Who said both aren’t for me?”

 

Harry knew she was teasing, but there was no mirth in her voice.

 

“Right you are,” Harry said with a grimace.

 

He pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey, summoned a glass and filled it to the top. He took a big swig, revelling the burning in his throat and topping off the glass again. The drink didn’t make Harry feel any better. He hadn’t expected it to. He was relieved James had forgiven him, but Harry still felt guilty. Ginny was giving him that blazing look, her eyebrow raised slightly like she was waiting for him to say something. Except Harry didn’t know what to say.

 

Leaning onto the kitchen island, he dragged a hand through his hair and over his face, before looking up at Ginny.

 

“I’m rubbish at this,” Harry groaned, motioning around the kitchen with his hand.

 

“By this, you better not mean being a dad,” Ginny said sharply.

 

“‘Course I mean that. You saw what I did today. I’m--I’m--unfit--”

 

Ginny cut him off with a scowl.

 

“Don’t, Harry. Don’t do that. Don’t cut yourself down and give me that self-pitying shite.”

 

She furiously dumped an excessive amount of chocolate syrup in her bowl before tugging open the drawer of cutlery and pulling out two spoons. She slid one spoon and the carton of ice cream at Harry.

 

“Just eat out of the gallon. I took most of it.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to say he didn’t think he deserved ice cream, but a look in Ginny’s eyes told him she knew he wanted to say that, so he shut his mouth. She smiled slyly at him.

 

“The kids’ll notice it’s gone,” Harry protested lightly as he stuck his spoon inside the carton.  

 

“There’s still another gallon left.”

 

They ate in companionable silence for a while, Ginny finishing her first glass of wine and starting on the second.

 

“You told James about the Dursleys?” Ginny said finally, her voice oddly matter-of-fact.

 

Harry’s eyes widened.

 

“How’d you know?”

 

“He asked me about them.”

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath.

 

“I’m sorry, Gin. I shouldn’t have. It just came out.”

 

Harry swore several times.

 

“Merlin, I’ve ruined him, haven’t I? I made things worse,” he croaked.

 

“You haven’t ruined him, Harry,” Ginny sighed. “Sooner or later, the kids are going to learn that our pasts aren’t as glorious as we’ve made them out to be.”

 

“Yeah, but James doesn’t need to know I grew up in an abusive household.”

 

Ginny gave him a look of sympathy and tenderness, reaching for Harry’s hand and kissing it. She had many times called the Dursley’s abusive, but Harry rarely articulated their treatment in that way.

 

“Is that what you told James? That the Dursleys were abusive?” Ginny asked slowly.

 

“I didn’t use that word no,” Harry said hurriedly. “I just said they were mean.”

 

Ginny nodded.

 

“That make sense. He asked why they were mean to you.”

 

“Merlin, Gin, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

 

Ginny refrained from rolling her eyes.

 

“I can handle it, Harry,” she said flatly.

 

“I didn’t mean you couldn’t handle it,” he clarified hastily. “I just meant I hate that you had to. What did you say?”

 

“The kid version of the truth. They didn’t like magic, so they were scared of you and that made them mean.”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry took another swig of firewhiskey.

 

“Harry?”

 

“Mmmhhm.”

 

“Do you think they’re why? The Dursleys? Why you reacted the way you did?” Ginny prompted. Harry could tell she knew the answer to her own question, but she wanted him to talk it out because she thought it would help him.

 

Harry took another drink and bite of ice cream before answering.

 

“Suppose so,” he mumbled moodily. “Getting yelled at and belittled and shoved in my cupboard without meals was all I knew as a kid. Guess I don’t know how to punish any other way.”

 

“But you’ve punished the kids other ways millions of times,” Ginny pointed out, smiling slightly before adding, “And I mean a million times literally because our kids are hooligans.”

 

Harry barely gave a chuckle.

 

“I was bound to snap eventually,” he grunted.

 

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand comfortingly.

 

“Why did it happen this time?”

 

Harry scooped up the remaining ice cream in the carton.

 

“I guess I was stressed and tired. The kids had been driving me barmy all day. And I told them they couldn’t fly in the house. I told them! And then the worst happened. Lily got hurt.”

 

Harry let out an involuntary shudder, recalling his daughter’s blood and cries.

 

“And I didn’t do anything to protect her,” Harry croaked, his voice raspy. “I pulled out my wand and I wasn’t fast enough. She got hurt. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She’s not supposed to have a scar on her forehead.”

 

He said the last part quietly, but Ginny, of course, heard.  

 

“Oh, Harry,” Ginny sighed, stroking his hand with her thumb. Harry closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of her soft finger, unable to understand why she hadn’t pulled away from him all together.

 

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Harry asked, opening his eyes.

 

“Because you’re mad at yourself enough for both of us,” Ginny said. “I don’t need to pile more guilt on. And because I knew you regretted it the moment after it happened. And you made up for it, by talking to James.”

 

“Except I’ve probably scarred him for life,” Harry grumbled. “He’s not going to be able to look at me without remembering this.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. _I_ think he’s going to see how much you love him.”

 

Harry started to scoff, but Ginny continued.

 

“Harry, you’re not unfit to be a dad,” she said. “Quite the opposite. You have so much love in you. It exudes from your every fiber. You lashed out at James because you love Lily. And it was that capacity to love that brought you back, that made you seek forgiveness. At the risk of sounding like Dumbledore, your love is your greatest strength. I’m certain James feels it everyday. And Al. And Lily. Because I do.”

 

Harry blinked, feeling water form in his eyes. It was moments like these that made Harry undyingly grateful for Ginny, for the way she always seemed to know what he needed, to understand his feelings better than he himself could.

 

“I love you, Gin,” Harry said finally.  

 

“I love you, too.”

 

She squeezed his hand, but then leaned across the island and gripped his face, her expression ferocious.

 

“But Harry,” she said sternly. “If you ever do that again, I will hex you to oblivion.”

 

Harry smiled meekly.

 

“Deal.”

 

Ginny kissed him slowly bringing her fingers through his hair in a way that made Harry wish there wasn’t a kitchen island between them.

 

“How about we take this upstairs?” Ginny suggested into his lips. “I think we could both use a nice, looong soak in the bath.”

 

Her sultry tone and the way she drew out her words told him all he needed to know about the kinds of things they would be doing in that bath. He kissed her passionately in affirmation, determined to prove with his lips how much he truly loved her.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know how to end this, but I always say "all good fics end in implied smut," so I went with that. I hope you enjoyed this story!


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